Tell Me You Love Me
by maya295
Summary: Huddy snapshots: 10 ways for House to say "I love you" to Cuddy based on events that were evoked on the show but that we never *actually* saw on screen... Told with Cuddy's voice, in the first person.
1. During Sex

_Hi everyone!_

_You know those moments during the first part of season 7 when House and Cuddy were together, supposedly blissfully happy but we never really had a chance to see how it looked like? _

_It made me want to collect some of those moments, based upon the subtle allusions that were made to attest them, and explore what could have happened then…._

_I've chosen 10 situations, unraveling the season chronologically, and I'll use them as pretexts to imagine 10 different ways for House to say "I love you" to Cuddy, in his own House-ian way of course!_

_These are snapshots, like short stolen moments that we never saw in between – or during - episodes… They're told with Cuddy's voice, in the first person._

_I hope you'll like them…_

_So on with the first part – between "Now What" and "Selfish"…_

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><p><strong>** TELL ME YOU LOVE ME **<strong>

**_Part one - During sex._**

It's been merely three days since House and I got together and I'm not quite sure I can think about anything else at the moment. I should go to HR tomorrow and make this official. I know I've made the right choice and I don't regret it but people in the hospital are going to gossip and it's probably better to make the first move and defuse the upcoming sarcasms.

And yet, I don't care what they say. God, if only they knew how much I don't care! Right now, all that matters to me is him, and me, and the way he holds me in his arms, the way he makes me feel: complete, fulfilled and elated.

We're making love all the time. It's a bit crazy considering that we're not supposed to be as horny as two hormonally driven teenagers, but our desire is like an insatiable need and yielding to it feels inescapable and absolutely right.

We just can't get enough of each other.

House is the most incredible lover I've had in my entire life. I've been with a few men - some would say many - most of whom knew how to satisfy me, but nothing compares to the kind of bliss House elicits in me. He's thoughtful and tender while at the same time there's an irresistible force emanating from him when he claims his rewards that just leaves me breathless every time. House doesn't make love. Not really. He's a roaring torrent, impatient and demanding and he knows exactly where to take me, and how. His hunger, possessive and self confident, carries me away to places I've never thought I could go.

And his smiles, when he can see on my face the proof that he took me there. Oh, his smiles…

So now it's my turn. I want to have that power. I want to give him _that _pleasure. Twenty five years ago, we made love once, we had sex, whatever it was, but it was rushed, uninvolved and mindless. I only understood the inescapability of the consequences once he was gone. He'd turned my life upside down but I only realized it when it was too late. I've obsessed over that missed opportunity for years, wondering how it would have been, what would have changed if he'd stayed. And sometimes at nights, when the loneliness was particularly burdensome, I used to think about him, his odor, his skin, his strapping body hovering over mine and his eyes, piercing through my soul.

Yes, twenty five years ago, we didn't take our time because we didn't know we wouldn't have more of it and the thing is I never _tasted_ him. It's ironic, but at the same time, I can't help but think it's a boon, somehow, because with everything we know about each other, every weakness we've allowed ourselves to display, every boundary we've pushed, we still have a first time to seize. And I can still surprise him with something. I can still sweep him off his feet. It's been three days, during which we've made love almost a dozen of times already, and I haven't gone down on him yet. I know he's wondering, but doesn't ask. I can feel it and it makes me want to smile.

_Oh House, how can that even be a question? You think I don't want this? You think I'm a shy lover?_

We're lying naked in my bed. We've spent the entire day there doing nothing other than learning how to tame our unquenchable craving for each other. _All day_. Rachel is at my mom's for the week end and we have no reason to get up. No reason and clearly no desire to either. I'm cuddled up in his arms and he's caressing my shoulder softly. I feel another wave of desire rising inside me. I'm stretching a little into his embrace and he relaxes his grab to free me. We're looking at each other. I smile.

"Again?" he exclaims with a fake shocked look but I can see he's smiling too.

I pout, and it's only part of the game.

"I want you," I simply answer while I punctuate that evidence with a sensual kiss in the hollow of his collarbone.

Instantly, his arms envelop my waist and he pulls me into him. I push him away. I look up and he looks puzzled.

"Don't move," I say with poise and I draw the sheets out, uncovering our naked bodies.

I barely need to slide down a little lower alongside his body and he knows. He doesn't say a word but his amazed gaze speaks for him. His face is incredible. I can't hold back a quiet, but mischievous laugh as I'm slowly tracing a line of kisses on his abdomen. I feel his muscles contract under my touch. I lick his belly button with the tip of my tongue and his hips jolt upward. I trail my hand on his thigh, leisurely, and I stop at his groin to assess his erection. His cock is undeniably getting hard. I can feel it throb against my fingers. His breath hitches when I run my thumb on the tip of his shaft and wipe the warm drip of pre-cum. Then I adjust my position beside him and straighten up just for a second, standing on my knees and looking him in the eyes as I lick the bead off my finger slowly. He stares back at me, with his mouth agape and I lean down on him.

The taste of him in my mouth feels amazing. It's warm and sweet and sour. I suck his hard length between my lips and I keep him there, deep down the moist of my mouth before pulling out languorously, licking the line of his vein with my tongue. After a few strokes, he's already starting to lose it. The sound of his throaty groans is lustful and it makes me feel unreservedly powerful. I press the pulp of my swollen lips on different spots of his cock, tightening and relaxing my hold on him and I can feel him on the verge of surrendering. His hands reach out for me and he clutches my shoulders with his fingers. I wrap my hand around the base of his sex and slowly massage his hardness up and down while my tongue focuses all its attention on the head of his cock.

"Oh fuck!" he hisses.

He's close. The pulsating sensation in my mouth becomes unmistakable and I can almost feel the rush of his semen before it spurts out inside my throat. All his muscles contract and he lets go of my shoulders. With one of his hands, he grabs a strand of hair in the back of my neck and I know he struggles to stop himself from thrusting harder inside me until the jolts of his orgasm subside and his hips fall down on the mattress again.

I swallow and I lick him one last time, before pulling him out of my mouth.

I slide back up to his face, positioning my body on top of his, and I nibble his lips. With his eyes closed and his head slightly tilted backwards onto the pillow, he takes a deep breath and wraps his arms around me, holding me tightly against him.

"Fuck, I love you!" he groans, a blissful smile stretching on his face.

"Oh, really? So _now_, I don't need to beg you to say it, uh?"

I'm feeling so good right now. I have no doubt that he does love me, and I don't really care when or why he says it to me, but I just want to play. I want to tease him.

His eyes pop open and he looks at me, intrigued.

"Huh?"

"Yeah," I say. "What kind of value does this have?"

He narrows his eyes at me and I can see he's trying to decide whether he should take me seriously or not.

"I just went down on you and you came into my mouth," I carry on, holding back my smile. "So of course you love me now! I can't think of any man who wouldn't say that to _anyone_ in that situation!"

"Are you serious?" he asks cautiously.

I'm still lying on top of him, my nakedness against his nakedness. His hands slide from the small of my back to my butt and he gropes my ass cheeks possessively, pressing me closer to him. I wriggle to set myself free and roll to the side next to him.

"Yes!" I lie. "We just had sex. You're naked, and I'm naked. All the 'I love you' you say to me now don't mean a thing."

His eyes widen and he studies my face for a while, searching through my gaze. But I resist, I hold my chin up and I stare back at him challengingly. It lasts for some long seconds, and suddenly, completely out of the blue, he sits up and gets out of the bed. Before I have time to even comprehend what's happening, he's bent down to the floor to take his clothes and he slips on his jeans, then his tee-shirt. I start panicking a little.

"Wh… What are you doing?" I say, feeling a lump tightening my throat.

"Please, tell me I don't need to put my socks and shoes on."

"What? House… Of course you don't. You don't have to put your shoes or anything else on. What the hell are-"

"Fine," he interrupts me. "Can we consider that I'm dressed then?" he asks, tilting his head to the side with that typical roguish look of his on his face.

_That_ look. It stopped the sudden, uncontrollable fear I felt growing inside me instantly.

"Yes," I whisper, my voice trembling a little.

And I wait.

With a smile, he leans down towards me and he takes my face inside his hand, pulling it up delicately so it forces me to sit up on the bed. I hold my breath as he comes closer and stares into my eyes, his blue gaze undecipherable and full of gravity.

"Are we having sex now?" he asks with a husky voice.

We're face to face, our chins almost touching.

"No."

"Am I naked?"

I gulp.

"No."

"Good," he says.

He cradles my face inside his hands again, and the tips of his thumbs caress my temples gently. He leans down and rubs his nose against mine and, with a feather touch, he brushes his lips on my lips and kisses me.

"I love you," he says, almost in a murmur.

I bite my lips and I look at him, speechless. I'm trapped at my own game. But God, how sweet is the taste of _that_ defeat…

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><p><strong><em>AN_**

_I'll try to post a new snapshot every two or three days. My list of moments is already chosen, but if you have suggestions, don't hesitate: I haven't written everything yet, so I can make some changes, or even add some more parts if you like reading them…_

_Thank you for reading!_

_Have a nice day ~ maya_


	2. With Flowers

_Hi everyone!_

_Thank you for your wonderful reviews! I'm really glad you liked the idea for that new story._

_As promised, here's the second part: set during "Unwritten"_

_I hope you'll enjoy reading it…_

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><p><strong>** TELL ME YOU LOVE ME **<strong>

**_Part 2 – With Flowers_**

I can't focus. I have a pile of paperwork I need to deal with and all I can do is stare at that fluffy penguin in front of me.

I should return it back to the patient's room where it belongs. I know that. Yet, I don't. I want to keep it. Because it's cute. And because it's mine. It's _my_ peace penguin. Ten days; Oh God, _ten days_ and I'm already acting like an irresponsible, selfish child. What is wrong with me?

I'm in love. _That_ is what's wrong with me.

But, no; there's nothing wrong here. It's _all right_. Absolutely fine. House is… How can I say it? House is… perfect. Nooo! House, perfect? These two words can't be in the same sentence. It makes no sense. It's not supposed to be like that.

But the truth is, every day I'm waiting for a sign to tell me the crash is near, and it doesn't come. Oh yes, House is a jackass, of the headache inducing kind; and naturally, the moment we came back to work he's started to turn my life into a living hell. But am I surprised? No. Am I angry at him? Either. I'm not even upset. Pff… I'm pathetic. I _should_ be all of that and more and I'm just not. Instead, I'm seated here, at my desk, staring at a cuddly toy, and all I think about is him and his irresistible, self-satisfied smile when he gave it to me.

I should be more careful. I should take things slow and not let myself be overwhelmed like that but… it's hard to resist. House is deliberate and so conspicuous. Yes, conspicuous and unavoidable. Everything he does, he does it in such a politically incorrect way, provoking, unnerving, and deliberately nonchalant. It's so not what I'm supposed to want from a man, what I'm supposed to need in my life. He is unpredictable and I hate the unexpected. It's the exact opposite of what I should be looking for but, at the same time, I can't lie to myself, it's the exact definition of what I've hoped for my whole life. _Uncommon_. Nothing is more powerful than that thrill, and damned if I dare pretend I'm not loving every second of it, even though I know it sounds like I'm on the brink of disaster. I wouldn't go back for the world. I wouldn't change a thing. I want this. I want him in my life. I'm addicted to the way he and his manly, conquering manners make me feel: a_live,_ like never before.

I think I've never been happier.

"_Dammit Lisa! WORK_!" I scold myself inwardly.

I close my eyes for a split second and I hear the sound of the door being opened. I know it's him. It's inexplicable but I just _know_. He doesn't have to say a word and I don't even have to look up to check if I'm right. I can feel his presence in the room. I recognize his masculine scent in the air. I feel a slight twinge inside my womb

"I'm busy," I say, with my head down, trying to sound serious and bossy.

"No you're not. I've been spying on you from the other side of your door for at least five minutes, and all you've been doing is staring at that ugly penguin."

"It's not ugly," I protest with a pout.

I finally look up and he stands there, in front of me, unfazed, a smile on his face. I notice the bouquet he's holding in his hand, along his thigh. A dozen of pink roses.

"What's that?" I ask, frowning suspiciously, because what I really mean is "w_here did you get these?_"

He instantly takes another step towards me and brandishes the flowers up in the air, putting the bouquet out for me to take it.

"Rosa Centifolia!" he exclaims, a beam illuminating his face with a boyish expression of absolute glee. "Also known as the rose of May."

I take the bouquet in my hand. It's not wrapped in paper, and the stems are still moist. But the roses are absolutely gorgeous. House has disappeared into the bathroom adjoining my office and he comes back with a vase filled with water just as I'm leaning down, burying my nose between the petals to inhale the delicate perfume of the flowers.

"You like them?"

Of course I do. Roses are my favorite and he knows it. But I'm not going to tell him that. It'd encourage him to keep offering me those bouquets every day, sometimes several times a day, while I should not condone him doing that when I know where he's getting them from, should I? House takes the bouquet out of my hands and places it inside the vase, which he lays on the corner of my desk. I turn my head to the side and look at the flowers for a second. They're _really_ beautiful.

"House, you can't keep on stealing flowers in patients' rooms like that," I say, with a definite tone, mostly trying to convince myself that it's the right thing to say. "The family and friends of _sick_ people bring them here to-"

"I didn't take them in a patient's room!" he defends himself. "I swear."

"The stems are still moist," I say, as if that fact alone was proof that I'm not fooled by his sweet little lies.

"They were on the nurse station's counter," he replies, unimpressed. "Seriously, what's the point of putting flowers there? Nobody pays attention. People are too busy hurrying into your free clinic to talk a bunch of weak doctors into prescribing them completely useless drugs to treat their benign cold."

I roll my eyes.

"House, what do you want?" I say, dismissingly, mentally cursing myself for being more turned-on by his teasing comment than upset, as I should rightfully feel.

"You wanna have sex?" he answers, out of the blue.

"What?"

"I mean, _lunch_! How about lunch? I booked a room in that hotel just down the street for the entire afternoon," he says, waggling his eyebrows playfully. "We could be there by noon, call room service and order some food that we'd eat in bed-"

I shake my head and I purse my lips not to smile.

"I have tons of things to do today."

"Yes, but you also need to eat."

"I'll take something in the cafeteria."

He sighs.

"Fine," he says and he plops down into the chair in front of me.

I rest my elbows atop my desk and cradle my head inside my hands. I stare at him, insistently, but he conspicuously avoids my gaze, or pretends to, and grabs the fluffy penguin instead, fiddling with its wings.

"I should have gotten you the beaver," he declares solemnly after a while. "Beaver had something to say. But that penguin… what kind of message does a penguin say?" He holds the penguin in front of his face and starts shaking it up and down, as if it were a puppet without strings. "Hi, I'm a little penguin and I'm… cold!"

I swiftly lean over the desk and snatch the penguin out of his hands to put it back on my desk.

"Don't you have some tests to run?"

"Nope!"

He leans back into the chair's backrest and puts his cane on his lap. He obviously has no intention to leave, not anytime soon that is. It's my turn to sigh.

"That hotel room cost me $200," he says offhandedly. "You sure you really don't wanna come?"

"Yes, House, I'm sure."

"They don't do refund, you know, so I hope you're aware that because of your stubbornness, I'm gonna have to go there and use the room anyway."

"No, you're not."

"I terribly lack sleep lately," he adds with a knowing gaze, staring into my eyes with mischief. "I could use a nap."

"You could also stay here and do your work."

"Geez, you're really no fun."

I stare at him, with my eyes wide open, challengingly. I'm not saying a word, because there're no words to be said. He stares back at me and I can see the glitter of desire in his gaze. I sit up in my chair and I slightly lean over my desk towards him. The seconds go by like hours and I feel a shiver run down the small of my back.

Suddenly, House averts his gaze and he glances at the flowers on the desk in front of him. He leans forward and takes one rose out of the vase then he sits back in the chair and, while studying me from the corner of his eyes, he starts removing the petals, one by one, slowly.

I'm looking at him in silence for a short while, a bit puzzled, and then I jolt back to reality when I realize he's randomly throwing the petals on the floor all around him.

"What Are. You. Doing?" I ask, pronouncing each word loud and clear.

"Shh!" he cuts me off.

"But-" Whoosh! Another petal falls on the carpet floor. "What's the point of offering me flowers if you rip all the petals off of them? And can you please stop throwing them on-"

"Shh!" he says again, this time with an amused grin. He lifts his face up to look at me and conspicuously removes another petal that he gently puts on my desk. "I love her," he says, as if talking to himself, deliberately ignoring my upset pout. "I love her not," he carries on, pulling out another petal.

He stops to study my reaction and check if he's finally gotten my attention. I'm looking at him with my head tilted to the side, trying to appear as unimpressed as I can be, and obviously failing, seeing how his smile widens, as he's removing another rose petal.

"I love her." He puts the petal on my desk, besides the others. "I love her not. I love her. I love her not…"

He's peeled the flower almost completely. I look at him, then at the rose inside his hand. There're only two petals left. He pulls one out and looks me right in the eyes when he says.

"I love her."

And then he remains still, holding the rose, with one single petal still attached to it, in his hand. After a moment, I look at him and say:

"There's still one petal left."

He waits, without moving, his gaze still locked with mine. I'm suddenly feeling hot. I blink a few times and he looks down at the flower. It happens in a flash. Without a warning, he tears the last petal, puts it in his mouth and starts chewing it conscientiously. He makes a few grimaces and sticks out his tongue with an exaggerated look of disgust and then he gulps. When the petal is completely swallowed, he puts the stem back on my desk.

"Another petal?" he says. "Nope. Not seeing any!"

I'm trying not to beam. I really am. But I can't. I look at him and I smile widely. And I melt. Once more.

"All right, you win. I'll have lunch with you in that hotel room," I tell him. "You've made your point; better than with a beaver…"

He holds back a chuckle and stands up, walking towards the exit. Just before opening the door, he turns around and sends me a perfectly self-satisfied look of victory.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that! I can make some very good points with a beaver."

I shake my head and I smile again, irrepressibly, I smile.

He opens the door and steps outside, I watch him leave, following his silhouette with my eyes as he walks away and then I look around me again. There're petals everywhere on the floor, a few more on my desk, and a stem lying near. And on the corner of the desk, in front of me, a vase, with eleven beautiful roses inside, standing beside a fluffy penguin.

I shake my head, happily resigned, and I try to go back to work without thinking too much about where I know I already want to be...

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><p><strong><em>AN_**

_Next part should be up in a few days, at least I hope!_

_Again, thank you so much to everyone for your kind reviews and comments. And thank you to the ones who already added this story into their list of favorites. __It really touches me a lot. _

_Enjoy your day! maya_


	3. With A Bottle of Perfume

_Hi everyone!_

_First of all, again, thank you so much for your wonderful reviews and for adding this story into your list of favorites. It's been just incredible. I wasn't expecting such a warm welcome and I'm really touched and flattered that you like reading those little House/Cuddy snapshots as much as I like writing them._

_I hope you'll still enjoy this one. It's still set during the course of "Unwritten."_

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><p><strong>** TELL ME YOU LOVE ME **<strong>

_**Part 3 - With a Bottle Of Perfume**_

House spoils me with gifts. _Literally_.

It's not that I'm surprised but, I wasn't expecting him to be _so_ thoughtful. Well, he is his usual self of course, unnervingly boorish most of the time, but he's also extremely attentive, delicate… tender. He being a jerk doesn't bother me that much anyway. I'm used to dealing with his inappropriate manners. To be honest, part of me even finds it oddly attractive. I don't care how it looks like from an outside point of view, but the fact is, no matter _how_ he does it, House makes me feel special. Even when he acted like the most obnoxious bastard on the planet with me, I still was _his_ center of attention. You don't make so much effort to be noticed when you don't care about someone. The worst thing is indifference. And House never was indifferent. Snappish, provoking, mean, yes; but never uninvolved.

For many years, we've been dancing around each other and he's treated me in ways that would have certainly discouraged every woman with a sane mind. It _should_ have discouraged me. But it hasn't. Because I've always known, I guess. I'm no fool. Deep inside of me, I've always been sure that the reward for my stubbornness would be as blissful as it is now.

Sometimes I wonder what he was thinking back then; if he consciously wanted to keep me at bay, or if that was just part of an unconscious process designed to deny me access to _that_ part of him. Maybe he was afraid I would see who he really was and use it against him. But how could I? What woman in her right mind would not have wanted _that_? Experience the dizzying sensation of uniqueness one man's single gaze on you can trigger.

_Oh House! I don't care if you're not right, or perfect. I don't want perfect. As long as you're here, with me, you make everything feel so natural and simple. _

I really have neither desire nor will to fight that inexorability. I belong to him. That fact becomes more evident with every day that goes by.

We just made love. Again. It's the middle of the day and we're lying naked in a snug king size bed, in that hotel room he's booked for the day. House is wrapped against my body and his head rests atop my breast. My eyes are close and I comb his hair with my fingers, basking in the the gentle listlessness of the afterglow. I almost feel like an adulterous wife. I feel light and free-spirited. God, I feel great! Naturally, that's when the little voice starts whispering to me that it's time to leave. I hate that little voice right now and yet, I squirm a little beneath him to lift his head off of my chest.

"I need to go back to work," I say unconvincingly.

His immediate response is to press the weight of his head harder on my breast to immobilize me and he encircles my waist with his arm like a possessive child would hold onto his mother.

"No, you don't," he grumbles. "Stay a little longer…"

"House, I can't," I say regretfully.

"Of course you can! I'm sure nobody even noticed your absence! That hospital runs itself, you know. They don't need you there-"

"Ha, I wish!"

"_I_ need you," he carries on, ignoring my comment. "Or at least, I need your boobs to rest my head on something plump and cozy. They have terrible pillows here!" he whines.

Walking the talk, he snuggles up between my breasts, purposely rubbing me with his stubble in the process. My nipples harden, almost in spite of myself. I can feel the smile forming on his lips along my bare skin.

"It's almost two in the afternoon! It's not reasonable-"

"Who cares if it's not? We both want to stay here," he says, in a tone that sounds like he's trying to convince himself of that. "Why can't we just do what we want and forget about the rest for once?"

"For _once_?" I repeat, with a sarcastic edge to my voice.

He knows he's going to lose the argument if he keeps going down that road, so instead of pushing it further, he suddenly props himself up on his elbow and positions himself on top of me, imprisoning me in his embrace.

"I didn't have my dessert!" he declares solemnly, leaning down towards my face.

Before I have time to protest, his lips silence me with a greedy kiss. I try to resist, just for the sake of proving my point, but after a few of his teasing tongue strokes, I lose control over my body and I reach out for his face to caress his cheek. He breaks away from our kiss and looks down at me victoriously. I bite my lips and I sustain his gaze, naively thinking I can still resist his appeal while every inch of my skin is already screaming the opposite.

What's the point? He's right: I want this.

I arch up towards him and he slides from my face to my neck, then down to my collarbone. I sigh when his lips brush the outer curve of my breast and a moan squeezes in my throat when he takes my areola inside his mouth and grazes the tip of my erect nipple with his teeth.

No. Clearly, there's no point in trying to fight this.

His hands on my skin are as soft as velvet. He keeps going down, leisurely trailing moist kisses all over my midriff and he nuzzles my belly button. He stops for a split second and inhales deeply. His breath feels warm but it gives me goose bumps. He rubs his nose on my lower abdomen, inhaling again, and then he glides to my hipbone and straight out starts sniffing me.

He noticed.

Before I left the hospital earlier this noon to join him in that hotel, I went to my office's bathroom where I keep _it_. The perfume he gave me. I dropped a generous bead of scented liquid inside my belly button, _deliberately_. Most of the liquid sank and dried in the hollow of my navel but a small droplet trickled lower down my abdomen. I did it because I knew we'd have sex and I knew he would kiss me there. I wanted him to notice. And he did.

I smile.

"Oh-ho," he guffaws. "I see what you did there!"

"And what did I do?" I ask innocently.

"You're trying to intoxicate me with your smell."

"It's the perfume you gave me."

"I know that," he mumbles, his lips caressing my skin.

"I love it."

He lays another soft kiss on my hip.

"Me too," he whispers and he delicately licks me with the tip of his tongue.

"Alice Tanner told me it was an _interesting_ perfume."

"I like Alice Tanner a lot," he approves, nuzzling my navel again and rubbing his rough chin against my skin.

"It doesn't have a name," I venture. "It's just a simple bottle of perfume without a name."

I dig my fingers through his hair and I scrape his skull.

"I know," he groans, nipping me gently between his kisses.

I cradle his head inside my hands and I lift his face towards me.

"But… why? Every perfume has a name."

"Not that one."

"How's that possible?"

He props himself up on one elbow and glances up at me.

"Because I had it made specifically for you," he says casually, averting his gaze and resting his hand on my midriff.

I widen my eyes in surprise.

"Really?"

"Yes," he simply answers, while he strokes me slowly, his hand slowly going up to my breasts.

I jolt in pleasure when he takes one inside the palm of his hand and cradles it delicately.

"How… I mean, what is it made of?"

Without a warning, he pinches my nipple between his thumb and index finger. I jump, taken off guard.

"Tss! Can't tell. It's a secret."

To soften the sensation of pinching, he leans down and sucks my nipple gently inside his mouth, licking his saliva off of it with his tongue. I sigh and arch up again, but after a few seconds, I grab him by the scruff of his neck and push him away from my chest. He straightens up and stares at me with a poker face.

"Oh, come on!" I say beseechingly.

"Nope!"

"But- How did you know I would like it?"

"Because it smells like you."

"And what is that?" I ask, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

He looks at me for some long seconds, without saying a word and then he lies down again beside me and puts his head on my belly.

"A touch of Citrus Bergamia," he finally answers, fondling me nonchalantly with his fingertips, "_Acid_ at first, and very conspicuous. An almost headache-inducing scent you want to stay away from-"

I smack him on the round shape of his shoulder. He doesn't budge, but I can _feel _that he's smiling.

"Ouch!" he protests.

"Then what?"

"So you wanna know or you don't?"

"Quit teasing me and just tell me," I demand, pouting.

"Then it melts and dissolves in your sweat and that's when it reveals a subtle note of green tea and jasmine. _Spicy _and a little bit _heady_, like something forbidden but intriguing-"

"Forbidden?"

"Shut up! I'm telling you how you smell!"

I bite my lips and close my eyes. His head is still rested on my lower abdomen and it feels so _right_, to have him there, nestled against me. I slide my hand behind his skull and tenderly caress the nape of his neck.

"I'm listening," I tell him softly.

"Intriguing," he carries on, imperceptibly stretching out his neck to give in to my caress. "So you just need to come closer and that's when you taste the real core of it: The enthralling note of black orchid and liquid amber. And then you're screwed!"

"Nice," I say, smiling.

"Yeah," he sighs. "Black orchid is intoxicating. It smells like lust. You really don't need much of it to fall under its spell."

"I smell like lust?" I ask, surprised.

"No. Black orchid does," he jokes, lifting his head up to face me.

"Sure. Say what you want, you just admitted you fell under my spell," I tell him with a mischievous grin.

He shakes his head and rolls his eyes, faking to be appalled. Then after a few more lingering seconds spent staring at me in silence, he leans down again and begins to kiss me sensually, descending along the curves of my lower abdomen towards my groin with an undeniably more demanding fervor. He takes a deep breath and rubs his nose against my pelvic bone, while his hands climb up my thighs and press gently but firmly on them to spread them apart.

"House?" I say with a moan, holding my breath.

"Hmm," he answers, his lips brushing the entry of my core.

"Tell me you love me."

He instantly stops moving and shoots his head up to look me right in the eyes. And with a devilish smile, he says:

"Not a chance! Have you already forgotten the rule, woman? Never during sex or while we're naked."

My mouth drops open at his sassiness and he chuckles, as he's burying his face between my folds again.

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN_**

_The next part will be up as soon as possible. I need to work on something else, so I hope I'll be able to have enough time to do both!_

_Thank you for reading._

_Have a nice day ~ maya_


	4. In Mont Saint Michel

_Hi everyone!_

_Here's the new part. Not really a snapshot, seeing the length of it, but I really enjoyed writing it, so eventually, it got longer than I thought it would be! Geez, I guess I would be terrible at writing haikus! :P_

_Anyway, I hope you'll like it._

_This one takes place in a sort of parallel universe, supposedly sometimes between 'Unwritten' and 'Massage Therapy' if we consider that it was two weeks after 'Now What'_

_So? I bet you've already guessed what I'm talking about…_

_Thanks you all so much for your reviews here and elsewhere. Your enthusiasm and your kind words mean so much to me!_

* * *

><p><strong>** TELL ME YOU LOVE ME **<strong>

_**Part 4 – In Mont Saint Michel**_

The whole concept of this trip is an insane idea in itself.

I don't even know why I okayed it to begin with. It's so crazy, going to that place only for the week end, when half of the time will be lost in just getting there and then come back. We need to fly to London, take a plane to Rennes, then a train to a small town near Mont Saint Michel, where we have to take a bus, or a cab. It's endless! And it's hours and hours of travelling! We're going to be exhausted before we even reach our destination and will probably spend the whole time sleeping. But somehow, I guess I'm not really surprised: a nine hour trip to go crash in a bed by the sea on the other side of the planet, that's just who House is: Unconventionally illogical but in a delightfully exuberant way.

When House first mentioned the idea of that trip, the first thing that struck me was the fact that he remembered about that screen saver I had years ago! I didn't even keep it on my computer for a very long time. I'd just put it there, almost randomly, just as I could have chosen to put a picture of any other different kind of place. But I liked that one, yes. The thought of going on a secluded, small tidal island, far away from everything, with the quiet, reassuring presence of a nine-hundred-year-old fortress watching over you seemed so romantic, and yet I'd never mentioned it to anybody. And certainly not to House! I know he'd have mocked me: A control-freak, workaholic woman in her late thirties dreaming of escaping to an isolated place, while she had a job that kept her busy 24/7 and no man in her life to go there with? Oh yeah, I could already hear the endless jokes about it all!

I'd put that screen saver on my laptop and I used to stare at it in the morning, for a few quiet minutes before the rush hour hit the hospital. I closed my eyes and I imagined being there, taking long walks along the beach, my mind freed from all the worries of everyday life: No emergency calls to deal with, no lawsuit threats to defuse, no donors to beguile into signing big checks to keep the free clinic running. Just the sound of the waves, and the cool breeze in my hair. I imagined I was there and yes, I won't lie, sometimes, I used to dream he was there too, with me; that we were together and nothing else in the world mattered. But then my phone rang, or someone knocked on my office's door and I opened my eyes again only to see that screen saver which suddenly seemed to taunt me as the perfect place I would never get a chance to visit.

How did he know?

Not only did he notice, but he understood what it meant to me. All those little proofs of how attentive he's always been to the slightest detail about my life, my preferences, the significance of my choices - or lack thereof - they are all so overwhelming. Who am I kidding? Yes, this trip is absolutely crazy but I would have regretted it for the rest of my life if I hadn't seized what probably is the only chance I'd ever have to go there. _With him_.

We arrive on Saturday morning, predictably exhausted, after an endless journey that has started the evening before with a flight from Princeton that we've almost missed because House spent twenty minutes arguing with a girl at the check-in counter that his cane was a hand luggage, provokingly insisting on the word _hand_, which is why he refused to put it in the baggage hold, in case a crash happened and he would need it to walk out of the debris during the emergency evacuation procedure. I stood there, mortified, smiling apologetically to the poor girl, who shot me a few compassionate looks conveying how much she wondered what the hell was so special about an obnoxious man like House. I'd have gladly tell her about his genius brain, the softness of his caresses, the tenderness of his lovemaking, the thoughtfulness of his attentions, or how a single one of his piercing gazes made you feel exceptional and unique but we were running out of time so I just touched the side of House's arm gently and stared at him with silent, begging eyes. He caved, not without shooting the girl one last glare and we finally hurried to the boarding gate. The rest of the journey felt like a succession of transits from airports to airports, to train stations, bus stations and taxi stations in between which I dozed, snuggled up against him, while he wrapped his arm around me, holding me close to his chest.

A taxi drives us to our hotel, or more precisely drops us at the bottom of the stone stairs that leads to it. And that's only then that I realize Mont Saint Michel is a place where two-third of the architecture is accessible by long, winding stairs only. Everywhere. I cast a worried glance at House who stands near the cab's driver's door but seems unconcerned by this inconvenience, quite challenging for his leg to say the least, as he's looking up in the hotel's porch direction. The taxi driver rolls down his window and looks at us with a smile.

"Vous avez de la chance! Il fait toujours très beau à cette période de l'année, mais il n'y a pas encore trop de touristes. Vous allez presque avoir l'endroit pour vous tout seul!" _(* "You're lucky! __The weather is always sunny this time of year, but there're not too many tourists yet. You're almost going to have the place all for yourselves!")_

"Oui. Merci. C'est l'idée! Nous avons besoin de nous retrouver enfin seuls," House answers in impeccable French, scarcely with an accent. (* "_Yes. Thank you. That's the idea! We need to finally be alone, just the two of us."_)

"Lune de miel?" (* _"Honeymoon?"_) the taxi driver asks.

"Non, voyage d'affaires! C'est ma patronne!" (* _"No, business trip! She's my boss!"_)

I understand one word out of three of what they're saying but I don't miss the look of puzzlement on the taxi driver's face upon hearing House's last sentence. He eyes me up and down, his head tilted to the side, and then he smiles crookedly at me.

"Have a nice stay at Mont Saint Michel!" he says, amused.

I watch him drive away and I turn to face House with a suspicious look on my face.

"What did you say to him? The guy just checked me out like I was some kinda freak."

"That's coz you are!" he answers, chuckling. "I told him that you were my boss. And that we took that trip because you were sexually harassing me and would only agree to grant me a raise if I had sex with you all day long."

I roll my eyes, but can only partially hold back my smile.

"You really think I'm gonna believe you told him that?"

"I don't know. But I _do _know it'd have been just half a lie if I did; because I'm willing to have sex with you all day long. Even if you don't grant me a raise. Which you definitely should by the way!"

I take a deep breath and I look at him in silence. Answering something is totally useless at this point, and House loves taking advantage of that. He looks back at me with a smile and then takes my hand in his.

"What do you want to do now?" he asks.

I bit my lips in embarrassment at his question. It's 9.30 in the morning here in France, but my body still recognizes it at 3.30 in the middle of the night. I can't feel my limbs anymore, my eyes are watery from the air-conditioning on the plane, my back aches, and my shoes are killing me. I'm a mess. I look up at him with sorry eyes.

"_Now_? Are you going to hate me if I say that all I want is a shower. And a bed!" I declare shamefully.

"No." He smiles and takes a step in the stairs' direction. "You're right. You must be tired. Let's get our room."

"Aren't you?" I ask.

He doesn't answer and starts climbing the stairs decidedly, pulling me by the hand with him.

The hotel is an absolutely charming place that offers a fantastic view over the sea. Our room is spacious and decorated in traditional, wooden furniture. It looks rustic, cozy and above all, absolutely quiet. Everything I'd hope it'd be. I take a quick shower and the second I get out of the bathroom, I collapse, naked, on the snug bed adorning the center of the room. I crawl, already half-asleep, under the fresh sheets, as I hear the water run now that House is taking a shower after me.

Five minutes later, or maybe hours - I'm too comfortably numb to find out - I'm pulled from my slumber by the tickling sensation of wet lips kissing me voluptuously along the curves of my body. I stretch lazily and I open my eyes. House leans over me, his deep blue eyes filled with desire. I put out my arms and wrap them around his neck.

We make love. Languorously. The rhythm of his thrusts feels like the tidal movement of the sea that extends up to the horizon just outside our window. I'm almost floating in his arms. The touch of his hands and lips sets off a train of heavenly pleasuring electric jolts everywhere he lays them on my body. When I come, I notice the golden halo of sunlight that hits the round shape of his shoulders above me. I close my eyes and I let him stifle my surrendering moans with a sensual kiss.

"What time is it?" I ask him, only moments later, cuddled up in his arms.

He kisses me on the forehead and gently removes his arms from under my back to sit up.

"It's almost two in the afternoon. We should get something to eat," he declares.

"You think the hotel's still serving breakfast at this hour?" I ask, not really feeling hungry enough to have a full lunch.

"Oh no, we're not going to stay in that hotel room any longer. It's time to drag your gigantic, lazy ass outside and go eat the famous "_oeufs de la Mère Poulard._"

I wrinkle my nose and I hold back my smile, upon hearing him talk in another language. God, he sounds so sexy! A light shiver runs down the small of my back.

"What's that?" I say, amused.

"It's eggs. The 'Mère Poulard' was a cook who lived in Mont Saint Michel in the 19's century. Her omelette is famous worldwide," he recites with a self-satisfied look. "How come you like that place but know nothing about it?" he teases.

"Shut up! Unlike you, I'm not spending my days surfing the Internet. So stop bragging about something you probably learned online just yesterday…"

He beams and puts his hand on his heart.

"Ouch!" he exclaims theatrically. "That hurts!"

I laugh but I feel irrepressibly seduced by every undeniable proof he's giving me that he did take time to prepare that trip. He smiles and draws the sheets out to uncover my naked body.

"Come on, out! Get dressed. I'm taking you out to lunch!"

House was right. The eggs they serve at "La Mère Poulard," a restaurant in the main street, are one of the most delicious I've ever tasted. We eat outside, under the sun, and House, being his facetious self, makes me laugh commenting on every person that passes by, each time finding the perfect sarcastic one-liner to depict their little failings. He's irreverent but not in the least bit sorry about it and I can't help but admire his bluntness, his free mind and the way he seems not to care. Except when he looks at me. When he lays his eyes on me, I can see the gravity in his gaze. I can feel the intensity of all the words that he dares not speak. I feel good and I forget about everything that's not happening here and now.

After lunch, we stroll aimlessly in the streets hand in hand. From time to time, we pass by some groups of tourists. Some of them stop to ask their way and House sends them God knows where, waving convincingly in random directions and perfectly fooling them with his flawless French. The smile on his face as he watches them leave is an absolute gem. I feel a sudden need to huddle up against him. I want his arms around me. I want his warmth to envelop me. I come closer and he pulls me into his embrace. We keep walking about leisurely, arm in arm and, even though I can't see it, I can feel the look of pride on House's face each time we cross path with someone that turns their head in our direction. Out of the blue, House lets go of me and enters a souvenir shop, leaving me mouth agape on the sidewalk. He comes out a few minutes later and handles me something wrapped inside Kraft paper. It's round and hard. I unwrap the paper, and I smile when I discover what's inside: a Mont Saint Michel snowball. I shake it and stare, fascinated, at the little synthetic snowflakes floating around inside the ball for a while.

"You like it?" he asks, studying my reaction.

"Yeah," I whisper.

But we've walked for a long time, not to mention all the stairs we had to climb and I can't help noticing House's hand clutching his thigh by reflex, even though he tries to hide it from me.

"We should go back to the hotel," I tell him, not wanting to mention his leg by fear he would get defensive.

"Why? We haven't seen half the place yet."

I come closer to him and stand on my tiptoe to reach his face.

"I want you," I purr inside his ear.

He steps back and stares at me quizzically. I shake the ball and wave it under his chin.

"The snowball magical effect," I explain, with a mischievous smile. "Are you pretending you don't want me to thank you properly for it?"

I flutter my eyelids and he licks his bottom lip, tilting his head to the side as if he were contemplating his options, but I know he won't turn _that_ _kind of offer_ down. Not now, not ever. He fakes to hesitate a few more seconds and then he grabs my hand.

"Let's go!" he says, and he starts striding back in our hotel's direction.

We make love. Again. I'm less tired than I was in the morning. Sea air invigorated me. The sex is more passionate, more demanding. House is no longer slow or delicate. He's impatient and claims my body with possessiveness and poise. I let him guide me in the position he wants me to be as he flips me over on the mattress and hops me up on my knees. When he enters me from behind, hard and deep in one thrust, I bite my lower lip not to shout. We rock our hips together with a fervor that makes us both pant in no time. He comes first but maintains his fast rhythm a little longer until he knows, from the unmistakable jerks of pleasure that shake my whole body that I'm there too with him, and then he collapses on top of me. I fall forward under the weight of his body. I feel his sweat on my skin and the warmth of his breath in the back of my neck. He rolls to the side to free me and we look at each other, worn out but exhilarated.

I fall asleep, feeling his gaze on me and the light touch of his fingertips caressing the side of my arm.

I'm suddenly awakened by the sound of the TV, tuned in to some loud sports game. I jump in the bed and look around me. House is seated in a chair, by the bedside, staring offhandedly at the screen and conspicuously ignoring me. Finally he turns his head to the side and looks at me.

"Oops, sorry! Did I wake you up?" he says in a perfect smartass fashion.

I sigh and rub my forehead with my hand.

"How long have you been sitting there?" I ask him when I notice he's dressed.

"Not long," he dismisses me. "You wanna go out? We can walk in the bay. The tide is low now. Perfect timing to catch a great view of Mont Saint Michel under the sunset from the beach."

I'm getting dressed in no time and we leave our room. At the hotel reception, I snatch a brochure on the counter and we head outside again. The streets are deserted. The few tourists that were there in the afternoon have all left the island to join the continent. It really feels like we have Mont Saint Michel for ourselves. The air is cool and the sun is still high in the sky but its color starts changing into a blazing orange as it's slowly descending on the horizon. The sand is wet and it makes it easier to walk. House barely limps and he moves confidently on the beach. We walk away from the island towards the sea.

_Far away._

I suddenly realize we've walked quite a distance when I turn around and see Mont Saint Michel from afar. The view is stunning. House wraps his arm around my shoulders and takes a deep breath.

"So?" he says.

"So what?"

"How's that?"

"What?"

"The walk on the beach, the sunset and all that jazz? I'm sure you're a sucker for that kind of romantic things."

I shake my head.

"No," I protest unconvincingly.

"Yeah, sure. Tell me that's not exactly what you were thinking about every morning when you stared at your screen saver with those melancholic eyes."

My mouth drops open in surprise.

"You?-"

He chuckles.

"Ha! See? I'm right!"

"Well you have to admit that it's… nice," I say, caving.

In the distance, we can hear the sound of the roaring waves approaching, as the tides rises inexorably. The sea, though still far, already seems closer than it was when we stopped only minutes before.

"We should go back to the island now," I say. "the tide is rising and—"

"You're scared?" he teases.

I puff.

"No, I'm not. But," I fish the brochure out of my Pocket. "It says here that the tide rises at the speed of a galloping horse."

"Oh my God, so we're going to die!" House exclaims, mocking my concern.

"House, this is not funny! With your leg…"

"Ha yeah, my leg," he says. "If the tide threatens us, I won't be able to run. I guess that means you're gonna be the only survivor."

"Don't joke with that," I say reproachfully, feeling the sudden need to come close to him.

I grab his arm and snuggle up against him. He turns his head to the side and studies my worried face for a moment and then he bursts into laughter.

"Jesus! You really are afraid, aren't you? The tide is not going to swallow us, you idiot. The sea at Mont Saint Michel only covers the land entirely during the spring tides, which were in March this year. Don't worry, we're safe."

The sound of the waves keeps coming closer and House shoots a glance at his watch then away towards the island.

"We should walk back," I insist.

"Wait! Something's missing to complete your little princess' perfect dream."

"What?" I ask suspiciously.

"Well, you know," he says nonchalantly. "The message on the sand…"

"House, I'm not that desperate, ok?" I object, pouting.

"Oh yes, you are!"

Ignoring my protests, he starts drawing letters on the sand with the tip of his cane. First he traces a giant vertical line to form an "I." I roll my eyes, but I can't keep my eyes off of what he's doing. Then he traces another line, and another, that he joins in the center with a horizontal one. I watch, dumbfounded, as the letters are forming words under my eyes:

"I HATE YOU."

When he's done, he looks at me with a look of complete self-satisfaction.

"'Well, thanks! That's just great," I say, vexed to see him taking such an obvious pleasure in my disappointment.

"You don't get anything, do you?" he says, making fun of me.

"Get what?"

"You wanted me to write 'I love you', didn't you?"

"Well, what do you think? You said you were going to write something so, of course, I expected something nice."

"But what's the point? What you write down in the sand is ephemeral. People who do that are just stupid. They make passionate declarations that the sea washes away only moments after they're gone…"

He turns to face me and studies my reaction. I puff and look away to hide the smile on my face.

"Ok, fine! You made your point, smartass," I grumble. "Now can we go back, please?"

"Not yet. If I really want to make my point, we need to wait until the sea arrives and wears it off."

"You stay here if you want. But I'm going back!"

He seizes my hand inside his and steadfastly pulls me into his arms.

"No. _You_ stay here," he commands, holding me tight against him.

The sea is now less than a hundred yards away from us.

"House, this is not funny anymore. The sea is getting closer." I shiver inside his embrace and bury my face into his chest. He raises his wrist behind my back and checks his watch again.

And then, suddenly, I hear the sound of a car's engine coming towards us. I turn around to look behind me. A man driving an old Jeep is approaching. The car stops a few meters away from us.

"Vous arrivez pile à l'heure!" House exclaims joyfully, waving at him. _(*"You're right on time!"_)

"Who's that guy?" I ask, a little bit puzzled.

"That's François! He's the concierge at our hotel," House answers, perfectly calm.

I'm too happy to see someone to even try to rationalize the incongruousness of that situation any further. We walk to the car and François motions us to hop in. We sit in the backseat and François turns around, greeting us with a smile.

"Thank God, you were just passing by," I sigh in relief. "My boyfriend and I-"

"I'm not passing by," François answers, looking surprised. "Mr. House came to see me earlier this afternoon and he asked me to come pick you up on the beach at 8pm sharp!"

House puts his arm around my shoulders possessively and pulls me towards him. I topple inside his embrace and he keeps me there, tightening his grasp.

"And you were, François! Right on time!" he repeats. "Right, honey buns?"

I realize what it means and I raise my face up to look at House.

"I hate you!" I say, glaring at him.

"I know! But it won't last. Look!"

As the car starts driving back towards Mont Saint Michel, he makes me turn around to look behind us through the rear windshield. In the distance, despite the weak light, I can see that the tide has almost reached the point where he drew "I HATE YOU" in the sand. One more wave and it gets swallowed by the salty water.

"François!" House suddenly exclaims playfully, looking me straight in the eyes, rather than addressing him. "You wouldn't, by any chance, happen to have a chisel and a hammer? I think I may need to carve some stones tonight to prove a point."

François casts a glance in the rearview mirror, looking confused.

"Never mind," House adds, pulling me into his embrace again.

"You've planned this all along, haven't you?" I ask him with a pout.

His eyebrows fly up and he shoots me one of his most famous teasing looks, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"You know me," he says, beaming "I hate losing an argument."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN**_

_The next part should be up before the end of the week._

_Again, thank you, to all of you for reviewing and/or reading this story. _

_Have a nice day, evening, night! __~ maya_


	5. With An Email

_Hi everybody!_

_Sorry it took me longer than I'd said it would to post this part. I hope you're still here, with me, and that you'll still enjoy reading this..._

_So here's part 5. It's set during the episode "Massage Therapy." and logically, you will instantly know why..._

_So on with it. Please, let me know what you think!_

* * *

><p><strong>** TELL ME YOU LOVE ME **<strong>

_**Part 5 – With An Email**_

Everything was perfect until that girl showed up at his door.

She just walked in as if she was in conquered territory and I hated that. She, a masseuse? Yeah, right. Since when do masseuses dress like that? And it's not because she's a woman. I have nothing against House getting his leg massaged by a woman. I know he's in pain and that he needs physical therapy but, am I supposed to be fine with it being done by _that_ girl? At his place?

No.

I told him I wasn't ok with it and he didn't seem to understand why. Or he pretended he didn't. Of course. I should have known he would refuse to see it the way I see it. But I'm not the one being unreasonable. I know someone who's a great therapist and who could ease his pain just perfectly. Someone who has a consult. Someone who wears a _real_ white coat... But he said no. Why does he toy with my emotions like they don't mean anything? So I told him I wouldn't see him until he'd stop seeing _her_.

And what did he do? He sent a male hooker in my office to massage me; because that's how it works with House: He thinks everything always has to be a power play; that he needs to prove a point and that yielding would be losing. Well then, if he thinks I'm going to cave first, he's wrong. I can be stubborn too if I want. Even when it doesn't make sense. And God knows that it doesn't make any right now!

I'm just miserable.

Two days without him and it feels like I've punished myself as much as I wanted to punish him for ignoring my feelings. I miss him. I miss being with him. And I miss his hands on me. I don't sleep well. My bed feels empty and cold without him in it. Why does it have to be so complicated when it should be simple? I just want to be with him. And I know he wants to be with me. We're two screwed up, stubborn idiots that act like whimsical kids instead of behaving like adults.

And I want it to stop.

I sigh. I'm seated in my office in front of my computer. I should work but I'm good at nothing today. I haven't been able to do one single productive thing since I've arrived at the hospital this morning. I think about him. I chose the clothes I'm wearing thinking about him. I wanted him to see me. But he's playing it tough. It's almost ten already and I haven't caught sight of him once. I wonder what he's doing. I wonder if he's thinking about me, too...

Suddenly, a message pops up on my computer screen telling me I received an email. I click on the link to my inbox and the first thing I notice is that he's the sender. My heart instantly speeds up in my chest. I take a deep breath and I open the email. There's no written message, nothing. Just a video attached file without a name. What do I do? Shall I open it? Knowing him, I'm pretty sure it's not going to be what I expect. But what do I expect exactly? Sorry? Like this is ever going to happen! I'm a miserable idiot but I still know what I'm not going to get from him. And sorry is definitely not it. I guess I have no other choice but to click on the link to find out.

I open the video and I know right away that indeed, it's not. Of all the things he could send me, he sent me this: A porn video of a man and a woman, doing it doggy style on a giant bed covered with the ugliest bedspread I've ever seen in my life. Not that it matters anyway. From what I see, this is obviously the least of their worries. I'm oddly torn between an irrepressible need to laugh and cringe at the same time. The conspicuously laborious moans of the two porn actors are getting really loud. I turn the sound off and I pick up the phone.

"24/7 Booty Call Services, how can I help you?" he answers the second the call goes through.

I smile, but I erase it off my face not to sound too joyful when I say, "I just got your email."

"Oh. Did you open the file?

"I'm looking at it as we speak…"

"And?"

"And? House, you can't do that!" I tell him, trying to sound at least a little bit upset.

"Um, you know that's not me in the video!" he deadpans.

"I mean, sending me porn files at work."

"But there's a message behind that…"

"Oh really? So far, what I see _behind that_ looks more like a very excited man with a… Oh, wow! How is it actually possible to do _that_?"

"I know right? Those girls are very bendy!"

"Well clearly that one is gonna need a hip replacement before she turns thirty," I say, staring at my screen.

"Here you go! You just ruined all the fun with very unnecessary medical considerations."

"Maybe, but it doesn't mean I'm wrong."

"Did you at least read the subject of the email?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Because, as I told you: there's a message behind that."

I look at the email's subject and read it again: "_Made me think of you_." I grin, almost in spite of myself. Good thing we're on the phone and he can't see me.

"So?" I say with my most serious tone.

"So… you know what that means?"

I roll my eyes.

"Uh, I don't know. That you're a fifty year-old sex maniac with the hormones of a horny teenager?"

"Well there's that, yes, but not only. See? You completely missed my point."

"Oh, and what is your point?"

He puffs.

"My point is," he sighs, hesitant. "I love… having sex _with you_."

"I think I noticed that already."

Suddenly, images of him hovering over me when we make love invade my mind and I feel a shiver run down my spine.

"And you love having sex with me. Don't deny it!"

"House, I'm not going to change my mind about your… masseuse. You still need to find someone else."

"But I don't love having sex _with her_."

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, I'm not having sex with her. At all. But what I'm saying is that _even if I did_, I wouldn't like it as much as I like it with you-"

"House! STOP."

Silence fills the receiver for a while. My gaze falls on the screen where the video's still playing on mute. I shake my head and take a deep breath. Why does it have to be like that with him? But most of all, why does it seem like I wouldn't want it for the world to be any different?

"Cuddy," he says, his voice low and uncertain. "I'm dating _you_. I'm not going to be with another woman."

I can almost see him struggle to avoid saying it.

"I don't _want_ to be with another woman," he finally says.

I gulp. I know that. My mouth opens to tell him I do but I set my lips before the words can come out. I can't tell him that. I probably should but then, I think about that half-naked slut touching his thigh and I feel sick to my stomach. I'm jealous, ok! Is that so hard to understand? Does that make me a bitch? No. Because I know I'm right… am I?

"You're not saying anything," he says, suddenly jolting me back to reality.

"I know you don't," I answer sheepishly, chewing on my lower lip.

"Don't what?" he says softly.

"Don't want to be with another woman."

"Then why should it be a problem?"

"Because… _Saying_ it isn't enough… I-"

"Oh come on! Are you telling me _you_ feel threatened by Brandi?"

"I didn't say that!" I protest, a little bit too quickly.

Of course, he instantly notices.

"You're feeling threatened by Brandi," he repeats, but this time he's not asking a question.

"I'm not," I deny unconvincingly.

"God dammit Cuddy, she just massages my leg!" he exclaims.

"She's a _hooker_!" I shoot back.

He sighs heavily into the receiver. I wish he were here with me now so I could see his face. I feel ill at ease all of a sudden but I can't help it. I can't avoid feeling like I do and I wish he would just see it and make it a little bit easier. For me. Just a little bit.

"You shouldn't care about Brandi," he says softly. "She's so not playing in the same league."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Ahem!" he says coughing. "Fishing for compliments, aren't we?"

"No," I protest with a pout.

"It means," he carries on, "that you have no reason to feel threatened by Brandi, or by any other women for that matter."

I close my eyes and I exhale slowly.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" I say with a slight teasing edge to my voice.

He doesn't fail to notice it.

"It is," he answers, bantering back. "That, and the amazing video I sent you."

"House, it's a porn video!"

"It's two people making _love_!" he exclaims, overly dramatic. "Why do you think it made me think of you?"

I chuckle. And for a reason I can't explain, I can almost _see_ him smile with relief at the sound of it on the other end of the line. We say nothing for a short while.

"Are you still watching?" he asks after the moment of silence has flown by.

"Maybe," I admit with a low voice.

"I was thinking… how about we do that tonight? Just you and me… and a pair of black stockings," he says tentatively.

"And less spanking," I add, while I'm staring at the screen with wide open eyes, feeling both dismayed and oddly intrigued at the same time by what I see.

"But come on, that's the best part!" he protests, his voice filled with laughter.

"I'm sure that girl's crimson red ass begs to differ," I answer, unimpressed.

"So is that a yes?"

"Are you going to find another masseuse for your leg?" I dare him.

"We'll see about that," he answers, taking up the challenge.

"Then we'll see about _that_," I reply, not yielding.

"And if I do, does it bring the spanking back into the game?" he quickly asks.

I shake my head. I can picture the self-satisfied, roguish smile on his face right now.

"House, go back to work," I say, before hanging up.

I stare at the phone receiver and I turn my head back to my computer. On the screen, the man just collapsed on top of the girl, and they kiss, looking both completely spent but absolutely elated.

House doesn't often say sorry, but what he can sometimes say instead, even without words, is worth a million times that, which I'm sure, is something a lot of people would disagree with. But I don't care: because this is how I like it.

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><p><em><strong>AN**_

_Thank you so much to everyone who's been reading this story since I started it, or have joined it afterwards. Thank you for your reviews and for your incredibly kind words about it, here or elsewhere._

_Also,I'd asked that in the first part, but I'm asking again because you seemed to be very silent about it the first time, so I'm still curious to know… although, as I said, I've already listed the ten situations I want to write about for those snapshots… Still, is thee a particular moment in season 7 (before it went down the drain and everything was forever screwed up between House and Cuddy) that you'd want to be part of a snapshot?_

_If you have a specific idea, don't hesitate: maybe I'll add it, or will switch with one of mine…_


	6. With A Caressed Message

_Hi everyone!_

_A huge thank you, once again, for your amazing support and incredibly nice reaction to this story. Thank you, for all the reviews and comments, and for adding me in your lists of favorites. it really means a lot to me._

_Here's the new part. We're still around the time of 'Massage Therapy', and almost directly following the previous part, since House (as you know) told Cuddy he was done with Brandi, yielding to her request and so, touched and forgiving, she invited him to stay over at her place._

_I hope you'll like it. Please leave a thought if you pass by to read! thanks._

* * *

><p><strong>** TELL ME YOU LOVE ME **<strong>

**_Part 6 – With A Caressed Message_**

"Don't stop!" I protest, a lascivious moan escaping my lips.

He's stopped moving and he's griping my waist tightly, forcing me to stay still and pressing the back of my thighs against his. I can feel his cock pulsating inside my core and I can hear him pant above me. Slowly the palm of his hands slide from my waist to the small of my back and lower to the round shape of my butt cheeks. I take advantage of the fact that he released his grab on me to arch up and I sensually sway my hips from left to right, then up and down, deliberately rubbing him. When I start pulling out slowly, partially freeing the length of his shaft only to push back and capture it deep inside me again, his hands immediately reposition themselves on my waist and he immobilizes me once more.

"Stop. Doing. That!" he warns, short of breath.

"What?" I say innocently.

"You know what. Dammit Cuddy, stop bouncing that ass of yours or I swear we're done in ten seconds!"

"Aww, what's wrong, stud?" I tease. "Feeling a bit overwhelmed?"

The answer is immediate. He seizes me by the waist then hoists me up unceremoniously, instantly cupping my breasts Inside his palms and pressing his elbows alongside my ribs to imprison me in his embrace. My back leans against his chest and I'm almost seated on his lap when he deliberately thrusts upward, pushing himself deep inside of me forcefully, hitting the entry of my womb and causing me to squeal in both pain and pleasure. I feel my inner walls clench around his hardness in response and I throw my head back a little, panting to catch my breath as he fondles my breasts, almost roughly, the possessive touch of his hands on me sending chills of pleasure all over my body.

"Do you want this to last?" he asks his voice hoarse with desire.

"Yes," I barely manage to exhale in a lustful sigh.

He tilts his head down and bites the round shape of my shoulder then kisses his way up to the side of my neck.

"Then don't move," he croaks into my ear.

I gasp and I close my eyes as his hands slowly slide to my abdomen where he caresses my belly with his long palms before wrapping his arms around me and pressing me even tighter against him. His face is searching for mine and I turn my head to the side to kiss him. He leans closer and sucks my mouth inside his mouth. Greedily, passionately, unreservedly, he nips at my bottom lip and thrusts his tongue between my teeth. I moan through his lips and I turn around slightly to come closer, to touch his face, to grip his neck. I lose myself in the moment. Every inch of my skin radiates heat and desire for the man that possesses me with such ravenous fervor. _My_ lover. I feel an urge to move again, to feel him inside me. Tentatively, I begin to rock my hips, making slow round motions, creating just enough light friction against his hips to drive us both crazy.

"You're so tight," he says with a gravelly voice and his hands move from my waist up to my shoulder blades.

He gently pushes me forward and I comply without resistance, already ready to surrender to his lustful call again. While I position myself underneath him, his cock pulls out of me involuntarily and a groan of protestation instantly escapes my lips. House, just as impatient as I am, quickly guides himself back inside of me. The first thrust into my core is unrestrained and conquering. I arch my back like a feline, sensual and feral, and he digs his knuckles into my flesh to steady my hips as he continues to shove inside me deeper and faster with each one of his back and forth movements. It doesn't take long before I start feeling the familiar shiver building up in my lower belly.

"Oh God, yes! Again, more," I plead.

I can feel myself getting close to that blissful second where my body will become a growing wave gathering at the center of my core and turn into a train of spasms that will course through my nerves like thousands of electric shocks. The rhythm of his thrusts slows down a little, enough to give him time to lean down above me and cup one of my breasts inside his palm.

"Wait for me," he says in a low voice.

He covers my mouth with his other hand and presses the length of his long index finger against my lips. I catch it between my teeth, without biting and I tilt my head backward. He almost collapses on top of me at the sensation, his forehead resting between my shoulder blades and he starts scraping me with his stubble. I feel his warm breaths brush my skin in short, quick pants as he thrusts deep into me, once. A shiver runs down my spine and the first spasms starts pervading me. My inner muscles clench around his hardness and he straightens up to fight the inevitable and make it last a little longer before we both finish that race. I can't feel my limbs anymore, I'm numbed with pleasure and my arms start shaking. I give in. I let my chest fall forward and I bury my face in the sheets, stretching my arms above my head.

I can barely stand on my knees but he holds me tightly, his grip keeping me up, and arched towards him. Each one of his last, surrendering thrusts is like a shot of endorphin that invades my veins, flows into my blood and rushes to my brain. My fingers clutch at the sheets and I cling to the ball of cloth as if I needed an anchor not to fall. But I _want_ to fall. I want the dizziness of that moment, the vertigo that comes from that absolute loss of control over myself, when I only make one with him, and my body doesn't belong to me anymore.

A few more stabbing shoves and I feel the warm fluid spurting inside me. With the first jolt that shakes his hips, House leans down over me and wraps his arms around my waist, spooning me in his embrace and squeezing me tightly against him. I find the strength to push back and I buck my hips, fighting the pressure of his body above me. I give myself to him unreservedly and I take, without restraint, and the pleasure that ensues overwhelms us both. House buries his face in the nape of my neck and nips my flesh, greedily. The sound of his orgasmic groans permeates me and vibrates under my skin. We collapse together on the mattress, him on top of me, him _inside_ me. There's no shame, no sorry, no excuses. I feel whole. Fulfilled and loved.

And _that_ is my reward for choosing House as my lover: The passion, the body symbiosis, a journey for the senses, something raw and carnal. With all the fragile delicacy of the emotions that hide underneath…

"Fuck! Doggy never gets old," he says, with a voice that screams dominant male's pride.

Well that, of course, is also part of the equation.

He rolls off of me and crashes down on his back next to me, a smile of absolute bliss drawn on his lips and his gaze planted on the ceiling. Still lying on my stomach, I turn my head to the side to look at him.

"You're so cliché!" I say with a pout.

"Oh-oh, trust me, there's nothing cliché about what I see from up here!" he teases.

I roll my eyes and he chuckles, then he sighs, exaggeratedly loud with pure boyish self-satisfaction. We slide under the sheets and I feel a warm trickle of semen dripping between my thighs. Reluctantly, I start moving towards the edge of the bed and just before I can sit up, he catches my wrist and holds me back.

"I need to take a shower," I say apologetically.

He tugs at my wrist to pull me down, and as I topple inside his arms he grabs hold of me, firmly pressing me against his chest.

"No, you don't!" he declares with poise.

"House," I protest, a little embarrassed. "I'm gonna stain the sheets."

He beams widely at the implied significance of my words and wraps his arms around my shoulders.

"Who cares? I think it's cool," he says, sticking out his chest. "I'm gonna impregnate your sheets with my scent. It means your bed is mine!"

I lift my face off his chest and I stare at him with a look of complete dismay.

"You think you're funny, don't you?" I ask, shaking my head.

"But that's my signature!" he exclaims with an extravaganza I already know is hiding something else. "It's a way of marking my territory, you know, I need to have landmarks since I go in so many beds."

_There it is._

"House, don't-" I sigh.

"What? Isn't that what bothered you about Brandi?" he provokes.

"I never said you were sleeping with her _now_-"

"But you don't want me to see her. Yeah, that makes sense."

"That's unfair."

"Unfair? Wow, unfair for whom? You? You're not the one needing the leg massage, here," he says, a bit accusingly.

"House," I cut him off, before this conversation takes an ugly turn neither of us wants to see it take. "I love _you_-"

It's enough to catch his attention and he holds his breath, staring down at me in silence.

"And I know you love me-" I carry on, planting my gaze inside his, meaningfully.

He rolls his eyes dramatically, as if saying 'you don't know _that_.' I puff, but I can't hold back my smile. A moment of silence passes by and I snuggle up in his arms, burying my face in his chest. His fingertips lightly caress the round shape of my shoulder.

"I don't want to share you with someone else," I murmur against his skin.

"You already share me with my patients, Wilson, my team…"

"That's not the same and you know it."

There's a beat and he lifts his head to look down at me.

"Are you telling me you're- _jealous_?"

I tilt my chin up and I meet his eyes, his playful eyes, staring at me challengingly. I bite my lips and I struggle against my stubbornness to find the strength to admit it.

"So what?" I finally say, averting my gaze.

"Nothing!" he protests. "Jealous. Ok… I can live with that!"

I can hear the smile in his words. I extricate myself from his embrace and prop myself up on my elbow.

"That's it? _I can live with that_?" I repeat, dumbfounded. "That's your answer?"

"Well, 'you're an idiot' is my other answer, but I doubt you wanna hear me say _that_."

I narrow my eyes at him for a split second and I study his face. There's an undeniable smugness in the way he's looking at me, but somehow, I can see the relief underneath. And I can live with that too.

"You're right, I don't," I admit.

I take a deep breath and I reposition myself in his arms. His body is warm against mine. I feel like I'm finally and exactly where I was always destined to be. I feel a part of me has stopped fighting and that it's just everything I needed: To stop fighting. House makes me see myself as I am, in so many ways I've forcefully repressed by fear it would swallow me and make me lose control over my life. But I need him. I need a man in my life. I need _this_ man in my life. Someone who's not afraid to stand up to me, someone who can press my buttons, poke where it hurts, tease, provoke, challenge, comfort, reassure, support… I so needed it to be him.

I take a deep breath and I close my eyes, basking in the serenity of this simple admission. I open my eyes again and I raise my hand to his chest. Slowly, tentatively, I start drawing small circles around his nipples and through the salt and pepper hair on his sternum. Then, suddenly it hits me: the sacrifice I demand, the choices I force him to make… I stop my listless caresses and I position the tip of my index finger on the center of his chest. Conspicuously slowly, with a pressure on his skin deliberately harder, I trace a vertical line to write an "I." He doesn't notice, but I keep going. I draw an apostrophe next, then an "M." The geometric lines of the letter finally catch his attention. He lifts his head off of the pillow and rests his chin on his collarbone to look at his chest and at my hand, tracing curves on his skin.

"What are you doing?" he asks, sounding amused.

"My sister and I used to play that game when we were kids," I say without looking at him.

"You mean there's a game that involved you and your sister lying naked in a bed?" he questions, teasingly.

I puff and I shake my head.

"No, you idiot! We used to write words on each other's body with the tip of our fingers and the goal was to guess what it was."

"Wow!" he guffaws. "You and your sister used to stroke each other's boobies!"

"It was on our backs! And it's not stroking, it's _writing_!" I clarify, rolling my eyes.

"Ok," he says, still chuckling.

"Close your eyes," I instruct him.

I lift up my head to check if he complied. His head is rested on the pillow, his eyes closed and a mischievous smile displayed on his lips. I lay the side of my face on his shoulder and I resume my little message drawing. I start from the first letter, writing an "I" again. I stop, expecting him to react but he remains completely still, and silent.

"So?" I prompt him.

"So what?"

"You need to say what letter it is," I tell him.

"What letter?"

I sigh and I draw the 'I' again.

"I thought I was supposed to guess the entire word."

"Fine!"

Frustrated, I start over, writing the "I" again, then the apostrophe, and the "M." Unconsciously, or maybe deliberately, I add a little extra pressure and scrap his skin a bit roughly with my fingernails.

"Must have been a hell lotta fun playing that game with you!" he quips, opening his eyes and shotting me a playful glance.

"Shut up!"

He laughs and rests his head on the pillow again. Of course, now, what I wanted to write doesn't really make sense anymore, but I still need to say it… or let it out at least.

I start drawing all the remaining letters in one go. "S – O – R – R – Y." Then I remove my hand from his chest and I wait.

"Well, if you ask me," he says, amused by my childish reaction. "It mostly felt like a giant squiggle-"

"Of course, you didn't pay attention. You suck at games," I say, pouting.

"Me? I'm the kind of games!" he exclaims, bringing me closer to him.

"And you don't have to be sorry," he adds, after a short while.

I gasp and raise my face up to him. He looks down at me and smiles. But the banter has left his features. He sighs, and lays a soft kiss on my temple.

"You were right about Brandi. I should have stopped seeing her long ago."

"Yeah," I whisper, feeling a bit uneasy.

We lie in silence for a while, clasped in each other's embrace.

"Turn around," he suddenly says, removing his arm from under my shoulder.

"House…"

"I'm not talking about sex. My turn to write now."

"And why do I need to turn around?" I ask, smiling.

"There's too much of Patty and Selma in the way on this side!" he says, poking one of my nipples with his finger. "I can't focus!"

I let out a throaty laugh and I roll over to lie on my stomach. He props himself on his elbow and settles just beside me, the front of his body, touching the side of mine from his chest down to his ankles. I can feel the bulge of his sex pressed against the side of my upper thigh. I stare at him lasciviously and I bite my lower lip.

"Close your eyes," he says.

"FYI, I can't see what you write on my back!"

"Tss, close your eyes I said. Or turn your head the other way."

"Why?" I ask, with mischief.

"You know why."

I beam and I close my eyes, sighing in delight.

I register the presence of his hand on my back the second the tip of his finger comes in contact with my skin. He hasn't move yet, but I'm already shivering in anticipation. The light pressure starts between my shoulder blades and slowly descends along my spine.

"Y-" I say, deciphering the significance of the entwined lines on my skin.

He doesn't say a word but continues to write, and the next sign is a circle, large and regular, drawn in the center of my back.

"O-"

Afterwards comes a "U" so that, when he draws the apostrophe, I exclaim "YOU'RE!"

"Patience isn't your forte, is it?"

"What? It's not 'you're'?"

"Yes, it is."

"Hah! See?"

He laughs and keeps on writing. The lines go in several directions, and seem to cross each other.

"X?" I say, unsure.

"Nope."

"N?"

"Either."

"Damn!" I grumble. "Do that again."

"You know everything is not a competition, right?" he whispers, just against the skin of my neck.

I didn't sense him approaching and I jump at the sound of his voice so close to my ear. I keep my eyes closed but I roll them anyway under my eyelids. House's finger digs deeper into my skin and he traces longer lines, slowly.

"H!" I say, recognizing the letter's design.

He doesn't answer so I read that as a silent approval. The next letter describes another circle.

"O-"

Then he draws a vertical line, descending along my spine towards the small of my back and a horizontal one next, going from left to right between my shoulder blades.

I know what it says. And, as if he'd guessed I've understood, he punctuates the process by poking his fingertip once in the middle of my spine. I open my eyes and I meet his intense gaze, two glittering sapphires staring at me expectantly.

"You're _hot_?" I say, a little put out.

He nods.

"Yep!"

I puff, and I stare at him, mouth agape.

"Well, thanks," I tell him, sounding slightly piqued.

He squints at me, and grabs my arm to force me to turn to the side and face him. All of a sudden, there's gravity in his eyes and I know he's not just talking about the game anymore the moment he says:

"I lower your expectations."

My eyes widen in surprise at the significance of his words and it wrings my heart to see _that_ look in the depth of his eyes. I reach out to his face and I cradle his jaw inside the palm of my hand, softly caressing his stubble. For a split second, he closes his eyes and gives in to the touch of my hand on his cheek.

"No, you don't," I say, with all the force of conviction I can muster.

"Yeah, I do," he whispers resignedly.

I gulp and I take a deep breath.

"You _don't_," I repeat. "House, look at me."

His eyes, intense and darker in the obscurity of the room, stare straight into my eyes.

"Yes, maybe you don't meet all my expectations, but you certainly don't _lower_ them. I don't expect you to be perfect. I don't expect you to give me everything I need. You can't, House. And I don't want you to anyway. I like that you challenge me. I like that you can tell me when I screw up. And I do screw up… _sometimes_-"

His eyebrows arch up in mock surprise and he opens his mouth to speak.

"Shut up!" I warn. "You screw up too, House. You screwed up when you thought I would be ok with you seeing that _masseuse_. But you just stubbornly refused to understand why. You think it's about you, with her? Well it isn't! It's about _us_, House, and the fact that I don't want another woman touching you. Yes, I'm jealous and possessive. And you can call me an idiot if you want but you're an idiot too for not seeing that I don't care about what you did before. I just want you to be here with me, _now_. Not with some slutty whore you used to sleep with."

I purse my lips and I stare at him with a look of defiance. House narrows his eyes at me, and stares back, not saying a word for a long timeless moment. Then, he takes a deep breath and exhales slowly.

"Are you done with the pep talk or is there something you want to add about whores and sluts?" he asks, his gaze perfectly undecipherable.

I study his unruffled features, looking for a sign, and I see just the hint of a smile, slowly drawing in the corner of his lips.

"Yes, I'm done," I say, mimicking his serious tone.

"Good. Can we sleep now?"

"Yes."

Without adding a word, I turn my back on him and I spoon against his body, my back pressed against his chest and my legs bent to take on the exact curves of his legs. He sighs with fake exasperation as I wriggle to find my position, deliberately rubbing the front of his hips with the small of my back in the process. When I'm nestled in his embrace, he slides his arm under my armpit and wraps it around me, offhandedly resting his hand on one of my breasts, cupping it inside his palm. I put my hand on top of his and I close my eyes, smiling.

Some time later, long minutes after, House removes his hand from my breast. He frees his arm, cautiously sliding it from under mine and, suddenly, in the absolute silence of the room, I feel the touch of his fingertip lightly brushing my shoulder. I try to control my breathing and I focus on the movements of his caresses: a vertical line, small, but straight, then another one, vertical too, with a smaller horizontal one at the bottom of it, going to the right, then a circle, then two opposite slashes joining at the bottom…

I hold my breath.

One line, vertical, and three smaller ones, horizontal. And again, two little slashes and a line, vertical, starting at the bottom where the two slashes are joined. A circle, a curve…

I – L – O – V – E – Y – O – U

I take a long shuddering breath and I turn my head to the side to look at him over my shoulder. His hand freezes on my skin and I feel him tense behind me. The room is plunged in the dark and I can barely see his features.

"I love you too, House," I whisper softly.

There's a long silence filling the space afterwards.

"Shut up! You're supposed to be asleep," he finally says, removing his hand from my back.

I bite my lips to suppress a laugh and I take his hand in mine, repositioning it on my chest. He doesn't say a word, doesn't pull back. Slowly, his large palm covers my breast and gives it a playful squeeze. I pat him on the top of his hand and I close my eyes, beaming.

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><p><strong><em>AN_**

_I wasn't initially going to add the smut scene in that chapter and wanted to move directly to the pillow talk afterwards, just suggesting the sex that would have happened before, but… I heard you, you sex maniacs, lol, so there… that's what you get for tempting me… ;P_

_Thank you for reading! _

_Carpe Diem ~ maya_


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